In Your Honor
by Isolde Necrophilia
Summary: Following the defeat of Solitude, the Imperial Legion, seemingly weakened, swarmed unknowingly to Ulfric - until they invaded Windhelm and crushed the Stormcloaks. On the verge of giving in, Ulfric is saved from himself by the Dragonborn, who manages to convince him to hide amongst the Thieves' Guild. But can she resurrect his spirit? Moreso, can she accept his proclaimed love?
1. Chapter 1

It was two-sixteen in the morning, but flames and clinking iron could have easily mislead one to believe that the sun had risen at high noon; a blanket of reflective light lit the clouds and soft snow complimented the crumbling grey blocks of stone that had once sheltered Wildhelm. The scenery had the potential to be an inspiration to an artist, though due to the weight of Imperials' boots and the heat of fresh blood, the snow that always draped the city's gravel was turned to mud. My teeth eased pressure against the tip of my tongue as I watched my brothers and sisters being trampled by an enemy presumed to have been defeated. How foolish we had been! A rebellion was inevitable, we weren't naïve enough to believe otherwise; yet we had made the foolish mistake to blind ourselves with speckled optimism. Thousands of men and women belonging to the Imperial Legion swarmed the Stormcloaks' posts and now the capital. My attention shifted to the Jarl.

He, too, watched the carnage. The light highlighted his swollen, bruised eyes and the scars accumulated from tragedies that had happened upon him he regretted to admit. The color of his skin was that of death; if his chest did not rise and fall with passing breaths, I would have mistaken him as a propped corpse. I wondered what he was thinking, if anything – was he plotting the next move? An escape? Or. . .defeat, death? If I believed the gods answered prayers, I would have asked them for the latter to not be true. "Ulfric," I spoke following a hollow thump from just outside the resident's wall. "We must leave."

I presumed my words to be deaf to his ears, for he showed no sign of registry – not even a sideward glance or a quick motion of fluttered lashes. "Do you hear me?" I tried again impatiently, "we cannot just stand here! This isn't over, Ulfric; they fight for a chance. Do you want their deaths to be in vain?"

He seemed to have been penetrated, for his Nordic visage hardened with contemplation. "I have forgotten an important lesson of the Greybeards," he admitted, sliding his tongue along broken, chapped lips, "we musn't tamper with time. All things end for new things to be born. We do not know what this new thing is, but extending our death is selfish, and we must assume the new thing is best. Talos is punishing me – I should have died long ago."

"No," I refused crisply, reaching for his armored wrist. A pang of panic caused my chest to ache as it had the first day we had met and I had been knocked to my knees, my head leveled against a block of wood for an axe to steadily detach my skull from the rest of my body. Perhaps I wasn't as dedicated to the cause as the Jarl was, for I still had a will to survive – but only if he did, too. I tried to reason these innate feelings to defeat the stubborn streak that prevented me from dragging him with me into the hidden escape route built solely for situations such as this. "This is not the will of gods, but the will of men; if you were supposed to die, you would have. But you are alive, as you are meant to be; your stupidity and stubbornness will not be smiled upon!"

I heard the entrance of the building smack hard against the floor. They intruded at last. I took a step towards the hidden entrance, my fingers still constricted around his unyielding limb. "Come, now, Ulfric! I know of a place we can stay where they won't find us. _Please_."

"You must live," he whispered, "for you are Dragonborn. But I. . . I have made mistakes."

"And you must live for you are High King," I snapped, forgetting any formalities that had been considered in the tone I had spoken to him with. I could hear the Imperials swarm his throne and buzz closer to us.

A throatless chuckle resonated. "I had planned to speak to Maramal to request your hand in marriage –"

"And you still can," I interrupted without considering the intention of his reflection, nor that of my response. I was becoming desperate; though I felt my spirit squirming through the small passage, I stood in the open, vulnerable to a poison-laced arrow or blade. "But only if we leave inow/i."

As the stomps of heavy armor began to circle us, something very queer happened – the defeated king gave into my tugging arm and crept behind my muffled boots.

**A/N** – I was originally going to write a oneshot where Ulfric dies, though I simply could not do it – so I will continue this. I am not accustomed to writing in first person, so please, critiques are welcomed. I thought first person would be the most appropriate, as I could like to avoid naming the Dragonborn and/or giving her a race, as I would like for my readers to envision their own character and not implement mine.

If you have no figured it out, this takes place sometime after finishing the Stormcloaks' quests. Plenty of Imperials still linger throughout Skyrim, so I thought it would be possible for something like this to occur.

I am also going to try to avoid naming specific quests and legions that the Dragonborn may have aligned with aside from the Thieves' Guild, who will be introduced next chapter. I am unsure if I will name the Dragonborn as the Guildmaster, or if I will simply mention her as a member. What do you guys think?

Please, please review – even if it's a simple compliment. I welcome critiques. I welcome suggestions. If you would like me to implore any themes, such as Ulfric's imposed grudge against all races aside from the Nords, do suggest them! I have a basic idea of where this is going, but I do not have an outline yet. This is the time to speak up.

- I. N.


	2. Chapter 2

I cannot recall any fine details of our voyage; time does not exist in shadow. I do believe that Nocturnal was guarding us as we treaded through cobwebs and hives of Draugr, for we surfaced just south of the White River without manifesting complicating injuries. I plummeted into the recesses of my mind; I acknowledged that I should begin at least considering the treacherous future that lay before us, but I could not - I was drifting away from reality as though caught in a lucid dream. My body was moving and I could feel sweat create friction against my armor, but I thoroughly convinced myself that at any moment I might awaken and initiate a new day burdened by lethargic aristocrats' quests. Ordinarily I yearned for adventure, but in comparison to my situation, _anything_ else sounded refreshing.

Ulfric was as quiet as I and more useless. He dragged his boots over the stone, stirring every creature from its slumber, and reclined behind me so that he would not become involved in combat unless I became overwhelmed. We came across a series of ancient Nordic puzzles, to which I had hoped he would contribute even a pondering 'hmn', but alas, he reluctantly sank against a pillar and waited until I finished tampering with the peculiar stones. I might as well have been dragging his corpse! If I was mindful enough to feel frustration, I would have let the Jarl have it – he was alive, wasn't he? Might as well make the best of it! But, alas, my social passiveness got the better of me and I ignored his absence. I was trained with objectivity; although I must be feeling _something_, I moved mechanically, locking the trauma away to be opened at a more convenient time. Not to say that Ulfric did not know what he was doing with the axe he wielded nor that he did not have experience – I have heard many, many tales – but he was a man of passion. War was personal; every political and physical move he made was carried out with purpose. I suppose that was what drew me to him initially, for I could have cared less whose side conquered Skyrim as long as I was still able to make a profit.

The sun blared into our eyes as we ascended from the crypt. I scouted the area until I was confident we were alone with the wilderness; then, turning to the blonde Nord, I released an exasperated moan. "The area is clear, my Jarl. We should rest here for the remainder of the day; it will be too risky to move while it is light outside. As soon as the sun sets, we can travel to Riften."

Ulfric rested against a boulder, extending his left leg in a manner that rendered him jaded. "What's in Riften. . .?" he began to question, but the answer must have come to him, for his brows drew together with condensation. "You don't mean to say that you have relations with the Thieves' Guild?"

Such a genius, he was. I chuckled to myself and dropped my bag before prying into its contents. "It should be safe enough for us to stay for just a few days. Everyone knows they're located under the city, but no one bothers actually straying down there. Besides, very few people know I am affiliated with them and ino one/i will expect you are."

"But I'm not," he frowned.

"Exactly."

"And I do not _wish_ to become affiliated with them. They've caused quite a ruckus in my city, and for what? They have no purpose. They're unorganized. They're – "

"Ulfric," I interrupted rapidly before my face blossomed red. "I mean, er, my Jarl – they're not so horrible. But really, this isn't a matter of agreeing or disagreeing with them; this is about survival. Where else would you suggest we go?"

He peeled his gloves from his hands and tossed them aside in defeat. "Are you _sure_ they can keep their word?"

"I'm sure," I answered. I must have sounded quite self-assured, for he leaned his head back and closed his bloodshot eyes. However, the true answer was not as simple as the one I offered him; the guilds' members were highly opinionated people that came from a variety of backgrounds. Even if I was ranked as their leader, I had still yet to prove myself to them, and had only just begun to earn their respect. Convincing them to allow me to keep a stranger, let alone the leader of the country's dueling force, in their home would be difficult. And to ask them to keep quiet about it? Ah, I could already feel my coin purse lighten.

I resumed fishing for my guild uniform and had just begun to strip my heavier armor when Ulfric, whom I had presumed to have fallen asleep, whistled. I spun on my heel to face him and lifted my tights over my breasts in a vain attempt to retain my modesty. "I told you to get some rest!" I scowled.

"Nords have the ability to sense when a woman is undressing," he smiled meekly. "Besides, I am still Jarl of Windhelm. You have no authority to tell me what to do, _mother_."

My brow arched. "So your reputation precedes you."

"And what is the good word?"

"That you're a pervert," I replied, trying to maintain a stern visage. I launched the trousers at his thick head, but he caught them, and for theatrical purpose whiffed their scent.

"Ah, sewer."

"You smell yourself, _my Jarl_," I mused. I was relieved to discover this distraction, as childish as it was. And though I'd never admit it out loud, I was also pleased to be subject of Ulfric's lighter side; I had only witnessed this bantering with his housecarl and allowed myself to foolishly believe that he thought of me as exceptional. Realizing that I now stood before him dressed only in rags, I snatched the trousers out of his grasp and proceeded to dress myself in the dark garments.

"That is possible. I was due for a bath before. . ." he drifted, a frown engaging his features once more. "I never knew you were a member of the Thieves' Guild."

"No one asked," I answered honestly, sheathing my potions, daggers, swords, arrows, and bow on my back and belt. "My membership did not impede my success as a Stormcloak – in fact, I'd say it benefitted you."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, my Jarl. If I had not joined the guild, I would not have acquired the blessing of Nocturnal – I would not have learned how to sneak, steal, or battle as well as I do," I waited for him to argue, but when he did not, I hesitantly continued. "May I give you some advice?"

His right appendage drew from his temple to his lips. "What is it?"

"You have one weakness – you generalize people, whether it is their race, occupation, spirituality, what have you. You think because I am a thief, I am selfish, but you know better, do you not? Every individual has a past. You cannot define them because they have artificial commonalities with another who has disappointed you."

"I do not think because you are a thief, you are selfish – rather because you are selfish, you are a thief," he snapped. "Next time you wish you offer me advice, refrain."

My gaze drew to my feet. I knew not if what I felt was shame or anger, but whatever it was, it was unpleasant and made me feel. . .vulnerable. I busied myself by retrieving a half loaf of bread. "I apologize. I shall speak no more."

* * *

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in silence. Ulfric rested while I perched on the boulder above him, bow and arrow in hand, ready to release on any unfortunate man or animal that dare come near. The hours drew short, nevertheless, for the sun settled behind the peak of the mountain earlier than it settled on the cities of the shore and we were able to resume our adventure across Skyrim.

We were veterans of the land and knew of shortcuts that could avoid the small towns established against the rivers. When we arrived at Riften, the sun was renewing its cycle by harboring light through the surrounding pines – we'd made it just in time! But we didn't have a minute to spare; I observed the absence of Stormcloak guards and recognized the silver of the Imperial Legion. The Empire had beaten us. Ulfric and I exchanged a look of uncertainty before proceeding to the West gate, where I ushered him behind some thrush.

"We need a plan," I explained. The look he gave me assured me that he already knew that, _continue, please_. "I, err. . .we could pay them off, but they would most likely report our presence in the city anyway. I could kill them, but the guards' absence might be noticed and a thorough search of Riften might occur."

I pursed my lips. Every idea dwindled down to the possibility of suspicious activity. My experience with Imperial guards rendered them idiotic, but I was confident security was thickened due to the current state of affairs. "Dammit."

Suddenly Ulfric decided to be useful. "Caravans."

I blinked. "What. . .?"

"We will wait until a group of traders come along; we'll jump out, blend in, and pass through the gate and into the city. It's been a very long time since I've been in Riften, but if memory serves me right, there's enough people there that we won't attract attention to ourselves."

I grinned. Oh, I could've hugged the moody bastard! "That's brilliant," I whispered, peeking through the thrush to check the guards' post for any changes. "How'd you think of that?"

"Galmar did, actually," his lips drew thin. "It's an old tactic."

"It's a good one," I tried to assure him. The situation was too dangerous to recede to earlier events; even if we weren't quite ourselves, we certainly couldn't get away with acting on a whim and dragging our feet. We could not dwell on the possibility that Galmar, a friend of mine and an even closer friend of his, had perished in last night's attack. I set my hand on his knee and gave a gentle squeeze. "We need to focus just a little longer, my Jarl. Once we're inside the city, we can gain access to all the information we need. That's one of the perks of being a member of the Thieves' Guild – everyone's a gossip."

"If you're not careful, I might bed you out here in the open."

The only thing that mattered was he was thinking of sex and not slaughter, right?

* * *

**A/N:** Thank was you to everyone who reviewed. I was given some lovely opinions and feedback regarding my writing style; hopefully it has improved since the last chapter. I was planning to go a little further into the plot this chapter, but as I began to write, I recognized a few opportunities for the Dragonborn and Ulfric to become a little better acquainted with one another. Their relationship in the game is very professional, so for them to break down piece by piece and reveal their usual, casual selves should make their romance more natural. Also, while this fic is a bit heavy, I wanted to incorporate a bit of fluff and drama and humor – hopefully it works. Ha.

Thanks for reading. Please drop a little 'hello' before you change the URL to a cheap porn website.

- I. N.


	3. Chapter 3

How tragic it seemed, to be so very tangibly close to an aim yet hours – or possibly days – from it. This misfortune used to strike me mad. . .no, that's a lie. It still does. I'd never admit it, though. I title myself as a professional, and thus cannot speak a word of the impatience that crawls under my skin like a hive of thirsty maggots. It tempts me to act foolishly; in this scenario, I envisioned myself penetrating through Riften's deft gates, slaying every man and woman as I sprint to the crypt descending to the Ragged Flagon. But alas, the true professional in me ascended through the pine until Ulfric and I were assured no ear should hear us. We then unloaded our baggage and settled in the balding grass, surveying the stretch of road for an opportunity.

Ulfric stretched, utilizing the crook of his arm to support his weight; he reminded me of the man who dwelled in the lonely Eastmarch kingdom that believed all the land of Skyrim rightfully belonged to him. And maybe it did – or maybe it didn't; it wasn't for me to decide; I was only pleased that his magnetic self-assurance had seemingly returned. I groped through my knapsack until a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread was in my hand; I broke each of these with the Jarl and lazily munched while the sun lifted high above our heads. We engaged in idle conversation for some time. I was too timid to evoke the sharp mannerisms of the Nord again, and he. . .well, I'd given up trying to guess what he was thinking.

He was nursing my third and last bottle when his gaze befell me. I pretended to be too occupied surveying the guards dwindling by the gate to catch his eye and question him; still, heat rose into my porcelain features and betrayed me. _Dammit_. Rather than risk exposing any sign of vulnerability, I twisted my head and glared in his direction, releasing an exasperated sigh. "Yes. . .? Are there any approaching caravans?"

I already knew the answer. Of course there weren't; if there were, I would trust he would make an announcement vocally rather than burn a hole into my skull. Nevertheless, I felt obligated to play the part. I strained to look passed his shoulder, finding nothing but some stray cattle on the path – just procrastinating, really, and hoping he, too, would feel as awkward and embarrassed as me and participate in the game. Alas, he was completely unfazed, and I had no other choice but to settle into my patch of grass and level my gaze with his.

His visage had hardened over the course of our drinks. In a way, he had reverted back in time; his complexion was livelier and less waxy, yet he had aged. The scars twisting his face were more apparent than before and the pink ringing his optics seemed to extend over the round of his cheekbones, highlighting the dictative stare that now befell and disarmed me. I tried to hold my own against him, to stare back the way he had, with my lips pursed and my eyes tearing into his soul – but I could not. With my tail between my crossed legs, I surrendered, idly returning to my leather bag in hopes of discovering a distraction.

"What were you doing that day? In Helgen?"

His tone demanded a response. I lifted my head, drawing my brows together – why would he ask a question when he already knew the answer?

"I was going to die," I replied after a moment of contemplation. I thought he was trying to strike a philosophical conversation of life and death, which seemed quite suiting since I was still a little unsure whether I had chosen correctly for dragging him along with me instead of allowing the Empire to turn his head into a practice dummy.

"No," his frown deepened. "Before then – you were crossing the border, yes?"

"Yes," I answered in a way to suggest he should ask what he really meant instead of enduring this strenuous game of riddles.

He seemed to understand, for he proceeded in a more direct manner. "What were you doing crossing the border in rags without equipment?"

I was a little taken aback, I must admit; I knew Ulfric was an intelligent man, but under the circumstances of our initial meeting, I presumed he hadn't been very observational, especially of me. He and a collective group of Stormcloaks were to be executed publicly; certainly the last thing he noticed was the poor girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I hesitated. Not only was my excuse long and not very appealing, but above all, I was as flabbergasted as a quiet schoolgirl. Ulfric noticing _me_? Oh my.

"Why do you ask?" Answering a question with a question was always the safe way to get around these sorts of conundrums.

"I'm trying to understand why a common thief would save my life," he answered.

My brows furrowed together. Common thief? I considered correcting him – I was _not_ a common thief. I was one of the best thieves in Skyrim – in Tamriel, most likely – and was paid very well for the work I did. A common thief entered others' homes and stole valueless plates and corkscrews. I worked on a contract, taking and planting items for others who had more coin than they did wits. Nevertheless, I doubted he would understand my justification and decided not to proceed with our futile argument. I settled with a more rational excuse instead. "Why I was crossing the border is irrelevant to why I am trying to save your life and kingdom, Jarl Ulfric," I said patiently. His gaze did not cease. "A _common thief_ is still capable of caring for another man. You can choose to believe it or not."

"I choose not to," he cracked. "Answer me, Dovahkiin."

My muscles began to tense with aggravation. We were never the best of friends, but we were on fair terms, and he had respected me prior to his knowledge of my little past time. I now felt as though I was an insect or something cruder, like a draugr, and he was dissecting me not for intellectual gain, but for pleasure. Any fancy I had felt for him before was replaced with mutual dislike. "Upon offering you my aid, you swore the past was behind me, and that all that mattered was my loyalty –"

"I said honor and integrity, two qualities you have failed to maintain."

"And you're built of honor, are you? Shouting a king to death! At least I'm not a murderer," I snarled as cold as a High Elf. My stare challenged the ferocity of his and for the first time, I held my own, and he had nothing to say. I knew I had won, but now that I had inhaled the fragrance of taboo, I needed to taste it, too. "The Empire is a joke. We all know that – even Torygg knew that. But you, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, are the greatest jester of all. You think you're liberating Skyrim – but you're just the Thalmor's tool. Your father is spitting in Sovngarde for the shame you have bestowed upon his kingdom."

I had hoped he, the true Prince of Bullshitting Speeches, would admire the effectiveness of the insults I had managed to seethe through my teeth. Oh, but I cannot begin to accumulate a description for the betrayal that crossed his features. I watched as his soul shank and shriveled somewhere in the darkness of his mind; I had shoved him to the ground, kicked him, and kicked him again, over and over, knowing he was dead and yet I continued swinging my boot into his broken face. I gasped softly, wanting nothing more than to reverse time and rehearse this scene with another script.

"My Jarl, I. . .am so sorry," I pled in a whisper.

"Did you mean any of it?" He asked, successfully restoring the voice of a king despite the stunned expression plastered on his face.

My tongue flicked across my chapped lips. "No," I answered sincerely, "I have the utmost respect for you. Although,. . .I do have reasonably suspect the Thalmor is the reason why we are here, and that the situation is more sinister than it seems."

I retrieved a bound journal from my knapsack and offered it to him. "I discovered this in the Thalmor Embassy. I was searching for evidence that might support the Blades' theory that they were behind the dragon attacks when I came across it. I was going to give it to you earlier, but we realized it was Alduin behind everything, and I became so wrapped up in trying to stop him that I postponed. I was going to deliver this to you when the Imperials invaded."

He sat up, his legs extended before him, and studied the notes. When he was finished, he lifted his chin. "I see," he said, closing the binding. "I have heard the rumors, but I was in denial. I did not want to believe it. But it has been two years since our victory – why would they act now if they are behind this chaos?"

It was a question I knew I would have to answer, but one I did not even wish to begin until I was in familiar territory. "I'm not sure," I sighed. "Those who never supported you were still talking of rebellion; the country has hardly begun to unify, and that is the only reason why I would think they would intervene on such a level."

The Nord nodded in agreement. "It has been a very slow process, but even those who oppose me support you. You have proven to be the true savior for everyone. I. . . no, that couldn't be. . ."

I cocked a brow. "What is it?"

He frowned, appearing quite uncertain and a little disturbed. "I wanted to give the people a reason to forget the wars – to have something to be optimistic about. I thought asking your hand in marriage might be that reason, but that's impossible. I only mentioned the idea to Galmar in passing."

There he went with the marriage thing again. A blushed a little and was thankful he was too absorbed to notice. "Are you suggesting the Thalmor would intervene because of. . .our, er, marriage?"

"Yes – but as I said, I had not spoken of it to anyone else. Galmar would not have betrayed me."

The sentiment sounded more like a question that neither of us wanted to answer. I watched as his thumb trace the low relief texture of the journal. "He would follow you to the end of the world and back. If that is the reason, it must have leaked through to them a different way. Are you sure you never mentioned it to your advisor or another Jarl?"

"Yes," he said, looking a little deflated. I wanted to assure him otherwise, but in a world like ours, even our closest comrades could betray us. I knew this too well.

"I don't know why the Thalmor would act upon it," I finally broke the silence. "Who says I would have accepted?"

A thin smile exaggerated the tired lines on his face. "You would – and I would be filing for a divorce within a day."

"You're quite the charmer," I teased. Then, remembering why we were camped where we were, I glanced over his shoulder and to the road. "Here's our chance."

**A/N**: I apologize for the late update. This chapter has been a little difficult for me to write, I'll admit. This is my third draft and it still doesn't feel right, but I'm going with it (obviously).

I made a new character in Skyrim to refresh the storylines. When I began this, I had completed the Stormcloak quest and Ulfric was apparently too busy walking back and forth between rooms to speak to me, so I wanted to refresh his character. I also completed the main storyline, where, in Sovngarde, I realized exactly how a Nord who emphasizes honor like Ulfric does reacts to a thief. I wasn't going to exaggerate her role – I'd planned to make it one of those subtle things, but after he gave me a lecture for worshipping Nocturnal, I felt obligated.

SO after posting this, I hope I won't lose too many of you. This isn't as well-written as it should be, but I feel sort of stuck. I know where I want to go, but it's a matter of getting to that point that is making this so difficult for me. My inner fangirl wants to take the Dragonborn and Ulfric and smash them together like paper dolls and produce little dragon-Nord-baby-things, but alas, I am trying to pretend I am capable of developing a storyline.

Thank you for reading. Now that I have wasted x amount of hours of my life trying to figure this out, I would appreciate if you spent thirty seconds to post a review. _**Even the simplest comments mean so much to us writers. **_

**ALSO!** Please, please excuse any silly typos. I keep catching myself typing 'Stormclock' and 'Thalamus'; when I edit, my brain passes over these silly mistakes. I suppose it could be worse. I could be typing 'Stormcock'. Maybe I'll sneak that in there one day. ;D

I.N.

**CallMePrincess: Thank you for reviewing! You made me laugh. I am a bit notorious for writing two chapters before calling it quits, so here you have it! The third chapter! And I'm not sure I know what you're referring to. I have a feeling that if you tell me, I'll have an 'oh!' moment. I'm a bit blonde. Do share? (:**


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